


poppies grow

by Ealasaid, Pavuvu



Series: between the crosses [5]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Epilogue, Gen, Ghosts, ghost!Blake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pavuvu/pseuds/Pavuvu
Summary: Tom Blake returns home one last time.
Relationships: Joseph Blake & Tom Blake, Joseph Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake & William Schofield & Joseph Blake
Series: between the crosses [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656289
Comments: 35
Kudos: 36





	poppies grow

_April 9th, 1917_

_Dear Mrs Blake,_

_It is with a heavy heart that I write this to you. I regret to inform you that your son, Thomas Blake, was killed in action a few days ago._

_It pains me to be the one to write to you_ **_._ ** ~~_for it is the worst duty I have ever undertaken, and,_ ~~ _Had he not asked me, I may not have turned my hand to this. I am sorry for that, as you deserve better._

 _Tom_ ~~_is_ ~~ _was my best friend. He sought to save another man's life and was mortally wounded in the doing. Please know that it happened in a cherry orchard, which he spoke to me of being one of his favourite memories. I held him throughout -- he was brave, and spoke only of you, and how much he loved you. It was very fast and he did not suffer._

_William Schofield_

~ * ~

_December 18th, 1918 -- Halifax, England_

Tom is like to vibrate right into another plane of existence, that is how excited he is. Home! He's coming home! 

"Careful," Will says, next to him. Tom feels a bit of a tug as Will hooks his hand through Tom's webbing and pulls him back, just a bit. "Don't go right through the window."

"Oh hush," Tom retorts without turning away. Seeing the familiar countryside, even in the winter? Thrilling! "As if. I've had plenty of practice at selective -- going through things, you know!"

"Tangibility," Joe corrects obnoxiously from where he's sitting on the opposite side of the compartment. "Or rather, intangibility."

Will is smiling, listening to the two of them. Tom bounces a little on the seat just to show he can do it and not go straight through. "Just wait," Tom tells him. "I'll show you Mum's cherry orchard, yeah? And Myrtle -- she's older now, but she's still around. And oh! I can show you my room -- I've some things you might like --"

"I made sure to write ahead and requested Mother have some eggnog ready for you," Joe adds. He looks like he's trying very hard not to smile. "So there's that to look forward to as well. --Try not to overindulge, though, Tom? Else we'll have a hard time getting to Burnley in the morning."

"Ugh," Tom groans. It's not like he can even overindulge, not the same way, but -- there's _so much_ he can think to do! "Why can't we stay an extra day?"

Joe and Will trade speaking looks that appears to be a mutual exchange of exasperation.  It's almost exactly like Mum and Father -- God, they're infuriating. "We don't want to -- strain Mother," Joe reminds Tom, delicately. "If you do recall."

 _Ugh._ This again! "I really don't know why she doesn't like you," Tom grouses to Will, half in apology. He's heard the whole thing from Joe and it just still seems so bizarre to him -- Mum was only ever upset with _Tom_ for maybe a few hours, and he's never seen her hold a grudge for so long. "It was a lovely letter! A little sappy, but -- perfectly nice."

Will just shrugs. He doesn't seem bothered by it -- resigned, maybe. That won't do. "I mean," Tom adds, "you didn't even write about how I single-handedly dragged the man out, all brave and heroic-like -- or how we absolutely destroyed those German trenches --"

Joe makes an incredulous noise that breaks off into a truly marvelous face. Will laughs, a little. 

The train is slowing to a stop. Outside, Tom can see a familiar outline of a person -- his father. He is a lone figure in the middle of a crowd, who are all waiting for the 1 o'clock train to arrive; and if Tom still had a beating heart, it'd stop at the sight.

"Ready?" Joe asks Will. If Tom didn't know his brother so well, he'd have missed the faint note of worry Joe is taking great care to conceal.

"Lead on," Will says. He smiles. "Or off, I suppose."

Tom skips through the compartment wall instead of bothering with navigating the carriage corridors and drops to the platform. "Come on," he urges Joe and Will as they come down the steps. "You two really should know how to hustle at this point, you know."

Joe waves to Father and tugs Will along. Fortunately there isn't as much ice as there could be on the platform, and they do not have a difficult time crossing it.

Father pulls Joe into a fierce hug. It's odd -- Tom's never seen him so demonstrative, but he won't complain; it gives Tom the opportunity to look his fill.

Father is -- older; familiar, but not. Stooped, more, though he stands as straight as he ever did. Tom can see by the bones in his face that Father has lost weight, and his neatly-clipped beard is streaked with grey. Tom presses up close beside them both and imagines he can fit himself into the embrace, eyes suddenly stinging.

After a moment, Tom and Joe's father pulls away and sizes up Will, who is waiting politely. There is a moment where Father seems to be waiting for something, but -- then it passes, and he holds out his hand. "You must be Captain Schofield," Father says. 

Will clasps and shakes it. "Captain Blake," he says. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last. Thank you for your hospitality." 

"Not at all," Father says cordially. "Now come. I'll get you two home, eh?" 

The ride home is remarkably chatty, given it's Father. He congratulates Will on his discharge and inquires what Will plans to do when he returns home; he asks about Will's family, and whether they have any plans for the holidays; and generally acts so very much like Mum that Tom is a little put off by it all. Joe just rolls his eyes whenever Tom makes faces at him, though, so Tom supposes it can't be that terrible. 

Mum must have been waiting by the door, as when they arrive, she comes sailing out across the walkway and into Joe's arms. "Oh look at you," she says mournfully. "We send you back with all those things to eat and you're _still_ too thin -- what, are your fellow officers eating you out of house and home? Or I suppose it'd be cot and quarters --" 

"Of course not, Mother," Joe says. "But it's good to see you, too. This is my best friend, Captain Schofield -- William Schofield."

Mum is just as changed as Father is. While her hair is yet untouched by white, there are lines Tom doesn't remember seeing in her face that reminds him of his grandmother, more than he ever imagined. She, too, has lost weight, and some of the effusive cheer that was the force of her personality seems to have been lost entirely.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr Schofield," Mum says with a perfectly social smile and a tiny nod. It is upsetting to Tom -- she is being overtly polite, and yet Tom can tell it is absolutely insincere with her snubbing Will's rank. 

Will bows slightly, tipping his head forward politely. "The pleasure is mine, Mrs Blake," he says seriously. "It is an honor to meet the mother of my two greatest friends."

Joe very manfully doesn't choke, although he does have to suppress a smile that threatens to bloom across his face. Tom has no such compunctions. "Look at you, you smooth bastard," he says with admiration. "That'll get her gander up."

Mum seems to not know what to say to that. "Yes," she says after a moment. "Joseph is marvelous, isn't he? --But do come in. The weather is dreadful, simply dreadful."

"Yes, let's," Father says, clearing his throat. "Joseph, you know your way -- perhaps I can show Captain Schofield?--"

"It's really only Mr," Will says. 

"I'll show you to the guest bedroom, Captain," Father says firmly. "If you'll follow me?"

Tom opts to go with Will, and no, not entirely because Joe is giving him Meaningful Looks. Tom isn't going to leave Will to face Father alone -- that would be dreadful. 

Perhaps the chatter in the car was some sort of test, though, as Father does not take the opportunity to do anything other than point out the water closet and let Will know that one of the maids will be up forthwith to make his room more comfortable. Also, that tea is in an hour.

Nearly as soon as Father has left, Joe locates them. His monstrous cat is with him, following on Joe's heels and meowing plaintively. He hasn't bothered to freshen up. 

"Ugh, Joe! You can't go making it easy for me," Tom complains, gesturing at his brother's -- everything. 

"Shut up. We've shared a washbasin before."

Will just looks amused. "I'm perfectly capable of being sociable," he says. 

"It's nothing to do with you," Tom hastens to assure his friend, and somehow manages to pick the same time and same words as Joe. 

The monster hooks its claws into Joe's trouser leg. He yelps, then sighs, and picks it up, scratching behind its ears. 

As Joe introduces the cat to Will, the maid bustles in with a washbasin and some other things, bustling right back out in record time after a few askance looks at Joe that neither Will nor Joe pay any attention to. After appropriate cat greetings are exchanged, Will and Joe clean up, and Joe is persuaded to return to his own room to put on his clean uniform. Will settles for changing his shirt for a clean one and smoothing out as many wrinkles as he can from his own tunic. 

Barely two weeks ago Joe had taken Tom aside (just after the plans were made to take Tom home one more time) and told him in no uncertain terms that Tom's job was to make sure that Will was not left to the mercies of Mother or Father, whether that meant giving him advice on what to say or guiding him through the house to make an escape. At the time, Tom felt it very silly, privately, as Will was more than capable of handling himself. 

Tom takes this back after sitting through tea. Tea is precisely as fraught as Joe had expected it would be. Mum is much more gracious than she was earlier, perhaps more comfortable in the parlour, her own personal fortification, but Father and Joe are both required to step in multiple times when the conversation becomes pointed -- about Will's background, his education, his family. There is a particularly contentious moment when Mother sharply comments on Will taking some biscuits and electing not to eat them all at once (Will held them out discreetly so that Tom could have a taste first -- the same with Will's tea) that very nearly ends with Father outright rebuking Mum. 

Will turns it all aside as gracefully as he can and appears absolutely unperturbed, laughing lightly at her accusations and making up some bollocks about having a light appetite so soon after lunch before Father can do much besides scowl. Tom is startled to realise that Will is actually, rather -- good? With women? It's not as though they've seen many outside the medical tents, or the hospitals, but somehow he knows exactly what to say and do to deflect Mum's insinuations. 

Joe is a different matter. His expression gets more and more fixed throughout the hour, until Father finally makes noises about letting both Joe and Will rest from their long journey. Will thanks them both for the tea and the courtesy, Joe echoing it. As Tom follows them out of the room, he chances a last glance at his parents. Father is inscrutable as always, seeming vaguely thoughtful. Mum's expression is as brittle as Joe's, though just as the door swings shut it cracks in half and she starts to cry.

Tom freezes. But (he is ashamed to say) he doesn't stay once he hears the first sob; he flees along the corridor after his brother and Will. 

"Hey," Tom hears ahead of him as he hurries down the hall. It's Will, up ahead. He's got his hand on Joe's shoulder, squeezing it tightly -- they've stopped far enough away that they are out of sight of the parlour door. "You alright?"

Tom can _hear_ Joe's teeth grind as his brother works his jaw. "Yes," Joe says, clipped, massaging the bridge of his nose, then pressing his fingers against the twitching muscles in his jaw to try and calm it. In another few seconds, he'll start tugging at his hair.

Will catches sight of Tom and subtly signals him to keep quiet. Fair enough -- Will is very good at defusing whatever snits Joe gets worked up into. So Tom hangs back as Will prompts Joe somewhere with more privacy with, "Why don't you show me your room?"

Joe takes a sharp breath, then scrubs at his face and turns towards Will. "I'll do you one better," he says fiercely, wrapping one arm around Will and firmly tugging him forward. "Where's --" he spots Tom "--ah. I'll show you Tom's room. Come on, there's some things of his I wanted to show you."

"Oh!" Tom brightens. "Yes! Is my room still the way it was?"

Will puts a companionable arm around Joe and goes along with it, letting Joe steer him around. "Mother's been firm on Tom's room staying the same," he answers briskly. "The maids have come in to clean, periodically, but otherwise it's exactly the same as when he left."

Tom honestly can't tell one way or the other once they enter. It's a familiar route, heading here -- but now he feels it most keenly: that there's just this -- this -- this disconnect. Tom has spent two years away from home since he was deployed. After everything he's seen and done -- the trenches, the dugouts, the various billets of varying accommodations -- home is both familiarly comforting and unimaginably luxurious. Now, as he looks around his old room with his old possessions still on the shelves and the desk, Tom can only think: _was this really my room? Were these really my things? It all seems so young._

He recognises some of them, true. But there are many things that he cannot fathom the reason for. Why did he have this book on his shelf? He never even liked it. Or these -- is this a collection of cherry stones? What was he even thinking -- why did he collect _those?_

"Tom?" 

Tom shakes himself out of this -- whatever this is. It's the oddest thing. "Hmm?" he asks, turning. It's Will -- he and Joe are looking at him, worry plain on both their faces. "Oh, sorry. Just lost in thought."

"As if you had any," Joe says automatically. 

"Yeah, yeah," Tom says restlessly. Abruptly, it doesn't feel right to be here. This isn't really his room anymore. "Bloody hell, I don't even remember half of these things. Was there something in particular we were looking for?"

"No," Will says after a pause. "We just wanted to give you the chance to show us your things. Was there anything you wanted us to see, Tom?"

Tom looks around his old room one last time and shakes his head. "Can we go outside, instead?" he ventures. 

There's a touch on his elbow -- Will. Tom leans into it gratefully. He's starting to wonder if he's real, again, and Will's hand is a reminder that Tom still exists. "Didn't you mention you had a cherry orchard?" Will asks.

"It's miserable this time of year," Tom says ruefully, but the thought is cheering him anyway. "Say, we can see the dogs while we're at it!"

So they do that. Will and Joe get all bundled up, recovering their serge greatcoats and pulling on scarves and the like. Outside it is cold and getting colder as the sun sets. They visit the dogs briefly -- Myrtle is as happy and cheerful as Tom remembers her, and Will consents to treating her to belly rubs and muzzle scratches on Tom's behalf.

It is well into twilight by the time they make it to the orchard. The trees are bare and skeletal with none of the growth of spring or summer, but Tom is moved to tears at how unchanged they seem. There's an ache in him that he hadn't noticed all this time -- now it eases, in this familiar place. 

Joe tromps over to a white stone marker -- marble, looks like -- in the corner where Tom's favorite tree is. It's the one with the best branches for climbing, and in the spring, it has the sweetest cherries, guaranteed.

"Here you are, Tom," he calls. "This is where Mother spends most of her lunches when it's not bloody terrible weather."

Tom is already half-way up the tree though, for old time's sake. "In a minute," he calls, hauling himself up into the now-bare crown.

Up here, he can see all around. In the house, Father's study looks out over the back -- Tom can't see him at the moment, though. At least one person is in the kitchen. Below him, Will joins Joe looking at the marker and mentions something quietly enough that Tom would have to strain to listen. Out, further -- the hedge marking the boundary of their home; the little stand of trees at the north. It is so different from France.

. . . Tom blinks; the last rays of sun have faded and true dark is settling over the Blake grounds. Will and Joe are standing close together, cheeks and noses red with the cold, and both are looking up at him.

"Is it supper already?" Tom asks, puzzled.

"Near enough," Will says to him. "Come on down, though, eh? It's effing cold."

Supper is delicious. After tea, Mother does not think to demand if Will has no appetite. --Well, she thinks it, certainly -- but she does not ask it outright. Tom takes to bothering Joe for every other dish, so that it's less conspicuous when he's trying something, and has a little of everything -- most happily, the eggnog. 

"It's everything I dreamed of," Tom slurs after he falls out of it from the combined euphoria of taste and inebriation, leaning against Will's leg under the table. Will is kind enough to thread his fingers through Tom's hair with the hand he isn't using to swirl the goblet, and Tom may or may not (he will deny it if asked) doze off for a bit like that, surrounded by family and happily sated.

He rouses when they begin excusing themselves. Father of course invites Joe and Will up to the study for a post-supper drink, which they can hardly decline, as it is Will's only evening there. But Tom doesn't really want to follow, he thinks, as it will doubtlessly be more dreadfully boring rehashing of what has happened on the Front; or perhaps it will be that gaily grim parade where the 2nd Devons were awarded that fancy French medal while two generals looked on, where the survivors of the actual battle were stone-faced and white even as the vast majority of the battalion stood proudly in glory they had only earned in the deaths of their predecessors. 

\--Anyway. Tom would rather spend some time with Mother and, as he doesn't think she is like to cry after supper, it will be nice to sit with someone who isn't Will or Joe, for once.

Indeed, she retires to her small private parlour instead. She spends much of the time writing correspondence to various friends and acquaintances, and even if she shows obvious signs of irritation at various intervals, she is a quietly familiar presence. Tom finds he has missed this, deeply. It was only a few years ago that he snuck in here after he and Joe were banished to bed to curl up in the corner and do some quiet activity that she pretended not to notice him at, after all.

By ten in the evening, he is dozing again, soothed into peace at the quiet familiarity. When she sighs and closes a book with a snap, he startles out of it. "Goodnight, Mum," Tom says to her wistfully as she sorts the things she was using so that they are not out of place in the morning. He knows why Joe and Will won't tell her about him, and he agrees that it is for the best -- but he still wishes he could say this and be heard.

But there's nothing he can do to change that. He may as well find his brother and his friend; Mother is clearly going to retire for the evening.

Joe and Will are, he finds, in Joe's room. Will doesn't look as though he's been silently eviscerated and then stitched back together, so Tom reckons Father can't have been too hard on him. While there isn't any alcohol in the room, they've both clearly been drinking more since supper. This is easy to see with how they seem to be lying sideways on the bed and snickering over something, taking turns petting the beastly cat. 

"Ah, there you are," Joe says, upon noticing Tom's superlatively disdainful expression at the cat. "We were wondering how long it'd take Mother before she went to bed."

Will moves closer to Joe, trapping a disgruntled Archibald between them, and pats the mattress beside him. "C'mon," he says as the cat extracts itself with great dignity and chooses to settle on Joe's chest instead. Will simply moves over more, until his and Joe's heads are knocking together over Will's shoulder and the cat has to resettle itself, again. 

Tom settles up close as well, relishing the feel of a warm body against his own. There's nothing more grounding than Will, it seems, and being given license to indulge is a treat. 

"So what're you up to?" he asks.

The two of them share a contemplative moment. "Just passing the time," Joe says at last, scratching Archibald's ears until the cat thrums with a motor-like purr. "Has coming home been everything you hoped it'd be?"

This is how they make the evening pass, after Mother and Father have gone to bed. It is simple; it is quiet; it is everything Tom has wished it might be, spending time without the fear and fight threatening on the horizon for one or the other of them. It is easy to relax and let the murmur of conversation flow over him.

\--which is why he is surprised to find himself back in the cherry orchard, not long after.

"What're we doing out here?" Tom asks, confused; it's dark, and he feels exposed, somehow. The full moon, unveiled by clouds, illuminates the bare trunks. He's never been out here when it's been like this. 

He notices, now, that Will and Joe stand to either side of him. Will reaches out and pulls him up under one arm, leaning into him comfortingly; Joe mimics the action as best he can, taking care not to go through Tom and cause those unholy vibrations that negate Tom's presence. Of the two of them, for once, it is Will who is weeping, and he holds Tom tightly to him. Tom should be more alarmed than he is.

"It's nearly midnight," Joe says. He sounds -- off. Scratchy, or hoarse, or -- like he's got a cold. "We're waiting for the Grim."

(Art courtesy of @[FateRagalan](https://fateragalan.tumblr.com/post/623048885972205568/im-not-crying-youre-crying-i-listened-to)!)

"Oh," Tom says. He's very tired, now; nevertheless, he thinks he knows what is really happening, and it is that which prompts him to ask, "But weren't I going to see Ellie and the children, again?"

"You've been fading since we arrived," Will says, voice hardly above a whisper. Tom feels each word -- Will is that close, his mouth against Tom's temple. He holds onto Tom as though it will tear him to pieces to let go, trembling finely. "I don't think you're going to last."

Tom hugs Will back. It is the least he can do. 

. . . he wishes he could say that he is ready to fight the Grim to stay longer -- but now that Will mentions it, Tom is exhausted. 

Will is out of the war. He has been discharged, safely, and is going home to his family -- and Tom has seen him safely home once already. Nor is Will alone -- he and Joe are closer friends than Tom and Will ever managed while Tom was still alive. That won't change. Tom knows this deeply, somehow: that no matter what they may face, even apart -- Will and Joe will not be separated in spirit, not at this juncture. 

As for Joe -- Joe isn't out of the conflict yet, but with the Armistice, everyone knows it is but a matter of time. Tom has no need to watch over his brother.

"Alright, I guess," Tom allows at last. He'd have liked to see Baby Tom once more, at least. Maybe it's better this way, though, because he can't imagine fighting this tiredness a moment longer. "Give Ellie and the children my regards."

"I will," Scho promises, and presses a kiss to Tom's brow. The bell tolls and the world flips.

~ * ~

Many, many years later, William Schofield dies of old age. He is surrounded by his wife, children, and grandchildren, and he breathes his last in the room that has always been his, on the second floor of the Schofield shop. All of his surviving family mourn his passing with genuine sorrow. 

_It is time,_ the Grim says to him that night, curling about William Schofield's spirit in the graveyard. _Are you ready?_

William Schofield stretches in the Haggate's churchyard, feeling new. Newer, at least -- the last twenty years have been hell on everything, it seems, and he relishes being pain-free for the first time in decades. 

"Oi!" a long unheard voice cries, growing more familiar with each syllable. "You were supposed to _tell me,_ you _arse!"_

The Grim sighs, immensely. _You get to deal with him now,_ it tells Will, grumpily.

"You say that as though it's a trial," Will says seriously, and delights in how the Grim whines.

Thomas Blake barrels into him, hauling him into the air in an embrace no less enthusiastic than any of Joe's ever were. "It's about time," he says tartly. "You sure kept me waiting, didn't you?"

_ (Fabulous art by @Pavuvu!) _

**Author's Note:**

> . . . and that's it, folks! The main series is all wrapped up. We've still one last story to tell, and possibly some other silly stories -- but for now, well.
> 
> In the meantime, if you'd like something else to read -- [Of Monsters, Moon, and Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23555416) by yonderlight is a very fun vampire/werewolf AU that I may or may not be writing something for! Additionally, writeyourownstory has posted her sequel to telempath!Will AU -- it's [down to gehenna (but not alone)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24934150)!
> 
> As always, bonus stuff is being posted on the series blog -- @between-the-crosses on tumblr! Feel free to ask questions about the series there, or just send us messages c:
> 
> We love you all! Stay safe -- or be clever about it <3


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